Spellcaster, Secretkeeper (1 of 4)
by Quizicalcoatl
Summary: How long has it been? No one really knows. War has no time limit, but everyone knows that eventually, either the Scarlets or the Cobalts won't be able to fight any longer. As the war drags on, all France and England want is maybe a little love (though of course, they don't know that yet). CHECK OUT REPAIR FOR THE SEQUEL! :D
1. Chapter 1

Rating: T for death, mild gore, etc.

Pairing: FrUK

Talking: I'M SORRY PEOPLE WHO VOTED.

I have no self-control, so I'll be updating this alongside my other fics. I can't start those yet because the votes are evenly divided! I've already finished this story (and I like it :D) so it won't slow me down. Yes, it's part of a series.

So please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim or hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: this belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya.

CHAPTER ONE:

The meeting is short and small but important. The four of us speak in hushed tones. A map is rolled out in front of us on the table, and we point to pins and read the latest reports as our wings jostle for space.

" _Angleterre, mon cher,_ you were at the border, weren't you?" I wonder, glancing up. The familiar man across from me scowls, furrowing thick eyebrows. _I wonder if he'll get butterflies,_ I think, and quickly decide that England is more of a moth person.

"Don't call me _'mon cher'_ if you value your life. But yes, I was last stationed at your border with Spain. The Scarlets were very secretive, but they did seem to have a plan. Their attacks weren't random, and they almost always had a strategy that they followed carefully," England explains. I nod along quietly.

" _Oui_. Do you know which nations are stationed in Spain?" I ask him. England tucks his wings in close to him. He has golden feathers at his wingtips like I do, which he hates. He has more of a lemon blonde base, though, while I'm more of a sunny yellow, so I don't think he should worry too much.

"Spain, clearly. Perhaps Hungary as well. I'm not sure. They seem to be spreading out their nations between units-I don't know why. I would think that it would cause more stress among the nations and make it harder to communicate battle strategy, but they seem to have a good set of messengers," England tells us.

"Russia is somewhere in China, with China and his sons," Lithuania adds. We all glance at him. He's the Brigadier General, meaning he's really only a well-respected Colonel who can sway votes his way. Still, he's one of our best strategists. "Well, it's clear China's got him wrapped around his little finger. We should move a four or five units into a better place to defend Taiwan, Japan and South Korea if they choose to attack."

"There's Vietnam, but she's made it clear that if she joins this war, it'll be on the Scarlet side. We don't want to push her into that. Do you think Japan or South Korea would be able to host them?" Germany wonders, gesturing around the map of Asia. He's the Minor General, and the highest-ranking of all of us. He serves right under the Major General.

"Well…" I glance towards the closed tent flaps, and the others follow my gaze. "We could fly over and ask them right now, or get a Messenger to do it if we don't want to look as suspicious. Is Romano here right now?"

Germany's face is indecipherable. " _Nien_. I wish the countries could meet openly, but I don't think that'll be possible."

"We're in the same camp-would it really be that bad? I know Taiwan and Japan have been talking, and there's not been any rumors about that. And wouldn't Poland be able to control most of the rumors, anyway?" Lithuania wonders.

England says abruptly, straightening and adjusting his wings uncomfortably, "I have to go. I'll be back in about an hour."

"Where are you going?" I ask. When he says nothing, just sends me an acid green glare, I continue. "Hm… Perhaps you are meeting a lover?" I wonder, my smirk easy and familiar on my lips.

England's glare hardens and he starts saying something, pauses, then glances at Germany. "May I be excused? I have some important business to attend to at noon," he asks, pointedly ignoring me.

Germany replies curtly, "Return as soon as possible. We can't afford to lose your input, especially not now."

England nods in the same fashion, although his wings flutter slightly and betray his pride at the comment. "Very well."

Then he turns and is out the door, wings spread as he takes to the air.

The rest of us turn back to map. "We can probably get away with asking South Korea to host the units we move there, since he's a Colonel and all," Lithuania says. "Poland will do his best to stop the rumors."

"Will he?" Germany asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Probably," Lithuania amends. "I'll convince him to do his best, at least."

"'Probably' isn't enough. We need it to be certain. This is war," Germany says, and so with that idea firmly pushed aside, we continue.


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: T

Talking: Oh and I forgot to mention that the chapters are going to vary in length A LOT like some are gonna be 500 words and some are gonna be 2,000 words sorry

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER TWO:

The meeting has been over for an hour and it's long past when England should be back, but he's still gone. That means I have nothing to do, because even though I'm usually busy-being the Head Practitioner isn't fun, but it's not like I have a choice-Italy and the human Practitioner said they'd take care of it for a little while. They said I was overworking myself. Of course I am. War doesn't give you much of a choice, especially not if you're a nation.

In any case, I want to find England. He'll give me something to do.

Hm. I like the way I worded that.

I finish preening my wings. My feathers are sunny and bright, the same shade of blonde as my hair, except my wings have streaks of golden feathers to go with the golden wingtips. They're beautiful. I'm beautiful, and it's England's loss if he can't see that.

I step out of my tent, which is near the front of the medic unit. I keep my wings up and my shoulders squared as I walk between tents, people darting around me on the ground and flying over my head.

England's tent isn't too far away. He gets his own because he's the Archmage, but I get the same as the Head Practitioner. We're officially the same rank, but medics are respected more than mages because when you're hurt, we're the ones to help you, and the mages tend to stick to themselves anyway.

The flaps of the tent are tied closed, and there's no sound from inside. _"An_ -I mean, Kirkland?" I call, and I get no reply, so I carefully untie the straps and step inside.

It's dark in here, and silent, so I summon a small flicker of flame into my hand. (Hey, just because I'm primarily a medic doesn't mean I'm useless in battle.)

England… What's he doing? Is he unconscious?

He's sprawled across the ground, a wing twisted uncomfortably under him and dried blood staining his hair where he was cut. His breathing is there, thank God, but it's too weak. His heartbeat isn't fast enough. What did he do?

I lean over him, fingers pressed to his neck to take his pulse while the other hand is held near his head. He must've fallen over. Was he just clumsy? It's not unheard of for people's wings to get tangled in something and kill the person, either, but usually that's suffocation. How long has he been like this?

My own heartbeat is speeding up. _Thump, thump, thump._ I don't know how to treat a nation, especially not when I don't know the cause!

I take a deep breath, then glance around the room for a light. He must have one. Oh-that lamp, in the corner on the desk, the one with the wire tangled and plugged into itself. Does it run on magic? Knowing England, of course it does. I try turning it on and by some miracle, it works.

I extinguish the flame in my hand by clenching it into a fist and kneel beside England.

That's a lot of blood, but at least it's dried, so it's doing its job. I checking his pulse nervously, my wings twitching involuntarily before I tuck them in tightly. I don't have time for being nervous right now.

 _"_ _Angleterre?"_ I wonder nervously, and when I get no reply, I stand. I kick him a bit, but not to hard, just because he's unconscious. He stirs, but his eyes stay closed. What's that under him? Chalk? What-oh. Oh. A spell. I take a step toward the closed tent flaps before I feel a weak hand around my foot.

"Don't you… Don't you dare tell anyone…" England hisses, eyes narrowed. His wings bristle and his grip tightens as I try to pull away.

 _"_ _Ouais, ouais_. I won't tell," I promise. Why did I say that?

England glares at me, then his hand drops weakly to the ground and his eyes drift shut. I lean down to check his pulse again, but his eyes snap open and he sends me a venomous glare. "Don't touch me, cheese coward."

"I was just checking your pulse, _mon lapin,"_ I tell him, but pull my hand back anyway. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he says, covering his face with his wing. "You're going to tell people that I passed out from my magic, aren't you?"

 _"_ _Non!_ I won't tell anybody!" Again, why did I promise that? And wait-he knocked himself out? "Now move, you'll cut off the circulation to your wing if you lay on it much longer."

England scowls at me, but takes my offered hand. I pull him up and push his wing out from under him, laying him back down afterward.

And so he lies on his back on the tarp floor of a tent as I kneel over him. In any other situation, I would say something that he would yell at me for. He yells at me for most of the things I say. But right now… Well, right now is not the time.

"So what spell was it?" I wonder.

"Fatis Ut Moriatur," he replies in the language we both learned as babies, back when we lived in Ancient Rome's empire.

 _"_ _Quoi?_ I mean… Who were you casting it on?" I wonder. He doesn't answer, just huffs in a breath of air as he tries to sit up and lean against his cot behind him. The floor where he was sitting is covered in chalk marks smudged across the chalkboard he put on the ground. That would be his spell base… it must've been some kind of curse.

"Russia," England says at last, reluctantly. "I was trying to, well, give him a sickness that would make it much harder for him to fight."

"What's the payment?" I ask. For a spell that affects another person that much, there must be some sort of price to pay.

England doesn't answer me that time, either, no matter how long I wait. Finally, he asks, "What time is it?"

"I don't know. Evening," I say with a small shrug.

"Thank you," he says, the adds, "You know too much."

"Do I?" I wonder, standing, backing away. He's dangerous and my instincts tell me that this conversation is headed in a bad direction.

"Of course," he says. "Help me up and don't you dare drop me. I don't trust you."


	3. Chapter 3

Rating: T

Talking: I'm sorry guys I'm trying to copy and paste from another document but I can't get the font size right so here you go! I hope it's okay :) Also sorry it's so short I'll be updating every day I can though, so there's tomorrow!

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

England seemed to know what he was doing, so I followed him, still not completely sure he wasn't trying to kill me (honestly, who knows with him.) A few hours later, he's conjuring me a bed-probably making it all lumpy and thin-and saying that I'm not allowed out of his sight.

What's the big deal with this spell? Why doesn't he trust me? Well, I can answer the second question pretty easily-I'm France and he's England, simple as that. We're like oil and water. We don't mix.

The first question is much harder. Maybe the spell is forbidden? Such a powerful spell must be taxing on the spellcaster. Or maybe he's just being paranoid.

But hey, England is mostly willingly letting me sleep in the same tent as him, although it is a big tent and we'll be in different beds. I can't argue with that. He probably wants to be able to see my beautiful face more often, but just won't admit it.

Anyway, he made up some kind of excuse-something about a recent project requiring the aid of a skilled medic, and that something could change at any time. Germany was the one to suggest we share a tent if the spell is so unpredictable, and by that time England had gone too far into the lie to back out, so here we are.

"I'm cold, _mon lapin,"_ I say that night, my smirk hidden in the darkness.

"So am I. If you're going to complain about it, fix it. Preferably by setting yourself on fire," England tells me, his tone sharp and bitter. I'm facing his back, but his wings look warm, and also I want an excuse to sleep with him.

 _"_ _Non! Angleterre,_ let me sleep beside you. Body heat will warm us up," I say.

England half-rolls over towards me and holds out his hand. He opens it and there in his palm is a flickering fireball. "I'll set you on fire for you."

 _"_ _Non!_ I think I'll just sleep over here, cold and lonely," I pout, edging away from him. "Meanie."

"What did you call me?" England demands, his face illuminated by fire.

"Nothing," I sulk, and England extinguishes the flame.


	4. Chapter 4

Rating: T and I forgot to put in strong language but hey this is the Hetalia fandom, it can't be that bad.

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

In the morning, I insist on a checkup. It's not safe for him to be doing this kind of reckless stuff, especially when he's no longer at his prime.

"Fine," England huffs at last, and I'm glad the spitted insults have stopped. "Do what you want, but my clothes are _staying on."_

 _"_ _Oui,_ I know!" I say. "I'm not as perverted as you seem to think!"

He sighs and lets me approach him, watching me warily as I sit beside him on his bed. I move slowly, like he's some sort of wild animal or has a fuse that could go off at any moment.

First I check the wound on his head. The gash has scabbed over, thankfully, and doesn't seem to be infected. I'll have to check that again-it can take some time for infections to show, and with close quarters such as these, we can't have anyone getting sick in case it spreads. His hair mostly hides it, but… "Hm… If anyone asks, you got this cut because you tripped over your wing, _oui?"_

"I know! Why can't you just heal it?" England demands, half-turning his head.

"Don't move!" I hiss, jerking my hand away. "I can't just heal it because the Practitioners would realize I've used some of my magic already today, which I could get in trouble for. If Italy doesn't notice, the human will. I'll fix it when-if-it actually gets concerning."

England crosses his arms tightly, his wings starting to fluff up. "Just say I tripped and you were on hand and you decided to help. I'm sure your subordinates wouldn't think it's too much of a disturbance."

"No need to get angry, _mon lapin,"_ I caution, edging away and eyeing his wings. They're strong enough to break my neck if he tried… Not that he would do that. Probably. _"Non_. That could not work. Who would believe that I volunteered to help you?"

"Good point, frog," England says thoughtfully, his arms relaxing into a more comfortable position. The insult isn't even said resentfully-like a nickname more than anything. "Get on with it, then. Are you going to insist upon anything else, or may we begin work?"

I sigh. "Go, do whatever you'd like. Just don't try that spell again, it's clearly dangerous."

"Don't tell me what to do," he hisses, standing, hands clenched. "Come on, we have work to do."

"We?" I ask, following suit as I straighten my uniform. He glances back at me.

"Yes, of course. I told them you would be helping me with a spell, and I do actually have a spell that would be much easier with the help of a medic. Come along, now," he tells me, and I follow in a sort of trance. What does he think he's doing? Does he really believe we could spend a whole day around each other without something or other being destroyed along the way?

We step out of the tent, wings held tense and our shoulders back because we have to set a good example to the thousands of soldiers stationed here. They don't know we're nations, but they do know that we're their commanding officers.

"So what are we doing?" I ask him, looking over. He doesn't spare me a glance.

"We're getting breakfast," he says after he's done snapping at a young Illusionist-one of the lowest ranks for a mage. She salutes, but as soon as he turns his back she sticks out her tongue at him. I wink and she looks mortified.

"Isn't it a bit late for that?" I wonder, looking back at him, but follow him into the mess hall. It's very basic-a high, domed ceiling made of wood and thin walls I could probably knock over if I wanted-but then again, I am a nation, so maybe humans wouldn't be able to do that. The inside of the room is full of small tables, and in the corner the cooks distribute food-bland, dry, and tasteless, but England seems happy enough. _He would be happy eating cardboard,_ I think as we sit down. _Maybe concrete too, but that would make his teeth worse than they already are._

He quickly finishes and spends the rest of the time chatting away with Japan, his immediate subordinate-a Sorcerer. Japan's wings are odd-unusually stiff, like he's constantly tense. Otherwise, though, they're completely normal-no streaks and with the long, narrower wings distinctive to the Asian nations (pretty much the opposite of my own rounded, broad wings). I just sit there, trying to force down the dry food I know I need but I'm sure will just sit there like lead in my stomach. We don't have any water in the mornings.

The world is running out of freshwater. The rivers are contaminated, our reservoirs drying up in the scorching heatwaves of the modern day. The Scarlets want to destroy what's left of the Earth, and the Cobalts-us-hope to restore it by looking for water in icy boulders of the Asteroid Belt.

I long for the days when wars didn't balance the fate of humanity.

We leave at last, just a few minutes before the cooks come to shoo us away. Japan follows us for a bit, and I'm half-sure he's speaking English, but most of them are magical terms that sound mostly like gibberish to me. He then bids England a quiet goodbye and rushes off towards another tent, his wings fluttering nervously and muttering something about South Korea groping-wait, what? It sounds like I need to team up with South Korea!

 _"_ _Quelle?"_ I ask, quickening my pace to fall into step beside England.

He grits his teeth. "It was nothing," he says, and I give him a skeptical look. He keeps his eyes firmly focused on the ground. "Really, we're just old friends. Anglo-Japanese alliance and all that."

"You were talking about magic. What's going on?" I wonder as England guides me back to his-no, our-tent.

"None of your business, frog-face," he snaps, scowling, his wings flaring. "Now. You're going to have to wait silently unless I directly ask you a question. And don't move at all because I don't want you distracting me. It would be preferable if you didn't breathe, actually, but I doubt you'll agree to that."

"You are cruel, _mon lapin,"_ I mutter. He ignores me and I go to my cot, stretching like a cat, my wings unfolding and nearly whacking England in the head. He smacks it away and I glare at him, flopping down on my stomach and propping my head up on my hand. "What are you doing first?"

"Making sure the force field around the camp is still strong, because the Illusionists and the Enchanters are useless idiots who have no idea what they're doing," he says conversationally.

"You mean, they're like you?" I ask, smirking. He glares, furious, and retorts with what I'm sure he thinks is a biting comment but really only makes me try not to laugh.

And so is our life together.


	5. Chapter 5

Rating: T (and this is the part with the language)

Talking: Um so I used Google translate for the French. I do not speak French at all so sorry guys if something's wrong.

Also: It turns out I might (meaning probably) have sleep apnea, so my brain is basically working like I haven't slept for days, so haha sorry if I messed something up while editing...

AND REVIEWS ARE MY FUEL SO I'D LOVE IT IF YOU COULD BE SO KIND AS TO REVIEW! :D

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER FIVE:

"But I'm lonely…" I say, and it's not really a lie. Mostly.

"I said no, and that's not changing, you wanker!" England spits.

Heh. I can't help but smirk and I'm glad that the position I'm in has my wing covering my mouth so he can't see me laughing at him.

"You're one to talk, _pute,"_ I reply smoothly.

"The hell did you just call me?" England demands, and in the dim light I can see him bolt upright. His wings are fluffed up and raised behind him, a natural instinct. I shift and edge away, but don't leave quite yet. This is fun.

 _"_ _Pute, Angleterre,"_ I repeat, the taunt a little louder this time. "Or are you going deaf? Did all your kids do that to you?"

"I am not going deaf," England grits out. "I was just surprised you could be so stupid."

I continue, tracing circles on the mattress, "Australia, maybe? _Non,_ wait-America can be pretty loud, can't he? Oh-but he's not yours anymore, is he?"

I realize that maybe I shouldn't have pissed off the Archmage _after_ he throws the fireball, which isn't very useful. I barely manage to flatten myself to the bed as the flame passes over me, singeing my clothes and wings.

It hits the side of the tent instead and England stares. "I shouldn't have done that," he muttered as the fire licks up the canvas and smoke starts filling the room.

"You definitely shouldn't have! Now get out of the tent, you idiot!" I yell, jumping away from the fire. I grab his hand and pull him out of his bed, but he stares vacantly at the flame, not helping me in the slightest.

I manage to drag him out of the tent, where a small crowd is gathering. I shake him, eyes wide, "What were you thinking, _Angleterre?"_

"You were the one insulting me!" he protests, wings flaring and hands clenching at his sides. He pushes me away. "And get off me!"

"Don't try playing innocent here! You attacked me!" I spit, glaring, fists coming up. The people around us don't seem sure if they should watch our soon-to-be fistfight or the flaming tent behind us.

He snorts, "And you were being a slut," he says, watching me in the same way one would study a particularly disgusting dead animal.

"Was not!" I protest, eyes wide.

He grabs my shirt collar, lifting me into the air-how does he _do_ that?-and hisses, "Stay the hell away from me."

"I would if you let me, you magic rat," I curse, and finally someone has the gall to intervene.

"Archmage! Put him down!" Germany shouts, hitting the ground running as he folds pale wings and runs toward us. England takes one look at him and drops me to a crumpled heap.

"Done," he says sharply.

"Put out the fire before it spreads!" Germany barks out as he helps me to my feet. I stare back at the fire as England takes a few moments to summon a whirlwind of sand, dropping it over the tent and smothering the flame. Germany waits until he finishes, then demanded, "What were you thinking?"

"What do you think? France-is, uh, yeah, Francis, he was being an idiot!" England snaps, turning away, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The way he shifts his weight and the twitching of his wings betray his worry.

"I was not! You ridiculously overreacted!" I argue, glaring. Germany holds a hand out to silence us.

"Everyone who is not directly involved in this situation, please go back to your tents. We have another day tomorrow," Germany calls. Groups depart from the area, whispering to each other and casting glances our way. As they leave, Germany turns back to us. "You are childish fools," he says, calmly, like this is normal. "Don't be ridiculous next time. If this happens again, I'll separate you and take away privileges." He's treating us like children.

England huffs, but he really doesn't seem to trust us. His wings keep twitching. He keeps shifting from foot to foot. His acid green eyes dart around. "Fine," he says at last. "I'll summon us another tent, then."

"Apologize," Germany orders sternly, glaring.

"That's not going to happen, _Allemagne,_ and you know it," I say as England turns and pointedly ignores us.

Germany sighs, wings drooping. "Clearly."


	6. Chapter 6

Rating: T

Talking: Hey guys! Sorry about the short chapter/minimal editing... Reviews are still my life! (And thank you so much to the people who've reviewed so far!)

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya.

CHAPTER SIX:

"I hate you," England mutters, and a small piece of my heart breaks.

Only a small piece, though. And it's been broken a thousand times before. The rest of me is the part that replies, "I hate you too." And yet I am still here, checking his wounds, making sure he's healing properly.

"Why are you doing this?" England asks suddenly.

"Well, we're allies," I say. And it wouldn't do to have a sick ally. It's only that. At least, that's what I tell myself as I push his hair to the side-as messy and spiky as always-to see the gash. It's mostly scarred over by now-nations just don't stay hurt for very long, not unless magic interferes-but still nasty. "No infection," I tell him. "It's starting to scar over."

"Good, now get away from me," he says, turning to glare at me

"Ouais," I reply with a yawn, easing off the bed. "We have work."

"Frog?" he asks, almost sounding concerned. I know he's not, though. He can't be. Maybe towards other people, but not me.

"Quelle?" I wonder, pulling my wing in front of me to preen it as I wait.

"You're not… Acting like your usual self," he says, tone harsh and cold, as if trying to make up for the sweetness of his words with bitterness in his actions.

"Of course I'm not acting normal, my roommate-tentmate, whatever-seems to think insulting me should be made a national sport," I find myself saying. "I do have emotions, you know, no matter what you think."

"I know that!" England says. "I… You… Dammit. No. You aren't supposed to be like this, you frog!"

"Exactly," I reply harshly, and walk quietly out of the tent. I actually have patients to attend to, despite what England seems to think.


	7. Chapter 7

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER SEVEN:

I skip breakfast today. I know it's not healthy, but I really don't want to see England right now. (To be fair, I doubt he wants to see me either.) And I have work to do.

I move quickly through the tents, the ones made out of white nylon and with rows of people lying on cots. They're sick-disease spreads fast in cramped places like this-or injured-we are soldiers, after all-or cursed-magic goes awry too often to be comfortable.

"Mia, _mon cher!_ Is Jones still here or do we need somebody to get that curse off him?" I call, steps brisk as I walk through room. People are busy here. Mia, the Practitioner and one of the highest-ranking humans in the two units stationed here, is my direct subordinate. She was trusted with taking care of America, the Major General.

"He's still here, but I'm bad with magic, so if you could do it, sir, that would be a big help," she shouts back. Her brunette head bobs into view and she points with one brown wing to a space near the end of the tent. "He's right over there."

 _"_ _Bon, merci,"_ I say, immediately changing course, and Mia goes back to her patient.

America was hexed the other day with some sort of sleeping curse-and a powerful one, too. I'm not sure whether I can really deal with this one, but I'll try, and if I can't, I'll fetch… I'll fetch Japan. Japan is a Sorcerer, so he's only a rank below Archmage. He'll be able to undo it, I'm sure, even if he doesn't have the experience England and I do with medical magic.

I plop down beside America-technically my superior. As the Major General, he's in charge of the entire army, though that doesn't mean he's the most powerful-he's just best at looking good on television. (And shush, I can look good on TV too, I just… Didn't want the pressure.) That would be his brother, _mon petit_ Canada, the Treasurer. After all, without the money there would be no one in this army. Canada rules everything from behind the scenes. Makes me proud.

America has a strong aura of magic around him-I can sense it even without touching him. It must be the curse. I take a breath and prepare myself-medical magic is very different from combative magic-then press a hand to his forehead.

Everything goes black.

America is in front of me, suspended midair, wings limp and eyes closed. His skin is tanned and his hair dark blonde, an almost amber color. His wings match, but he has the same golden wingtips the rest of his family has, and that's pretty much the only normal thing about them. The size and shape of his wing is all wrong-much unlike the other Western nations, his wings aren't rounded. They're longer than usual, too. His mother, I assume, gave him those wings.

I know what I have to do.


	8. Chapter 8

Rating: T

Talking: I'm so sorry these chapters are so short but they will get longer I PROMISE

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER EIGHT:

"Alfred, do you know the spell 'Fatis Ut Moriatur?'" I wonder that afternoon, once again cringing at the thought of eating the food here. Worldwide droughts mean I'm going to be hungry and dehydrated anyway, since my nation will be in a bad condition until we can get water from somewhere… Whether it be by destroying the Earth or spending enough money to get us to the Asteroid Belt (it's not like we haven't done it before).

America-halfway done with his bowl already, I think living with England as a child means he doesn't have tastebuds anymore-shrugs. "Dunno, man. Are ya gonna finish that?" he wonders, gesturing to my food.

 _"_ _Non,"_ I tell him.

"Don't tell me you're doing that on purpose, 'cause ya haven't been eating breakfast either according to Iggy. Are you _trying_ to get sent home?" America says between bites, and is that actual worry in his voice? I'm sure England would scream at him for the way he's talking right now.

 _"_ _Non, non,"_ I assure him, pushing my plate in his direction. "Certainly not. The food here is just utterly tasteless and unappetizing, but you can have it if you'd like. Do you know where I could look up the spell?"

"You can prolly ask Iggy," America says, pausing only to take my plate from me. "So did ya figure out who cursed me or not?"

"Norway, most likely," I answer.

"Who's that?" he wonders. I briefly entertain the idea of smacking him but decide maybe I shouldn't do that, since he's in charge of me and all.

"The Kingdom of Norway. The Scarlet Archmage. The Nordic… One of the first European nations you ever met?" I say, tone growing more and more incredulous as I go on and America just stares blankly.

On second thought, maybe I _should_ smack him.


	9. Chapter 9

Rating: T

Talking: Okay so I decided the last chapter was too short so here's another one :)

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya.

CHAPTER NINE:

That night is… Painfully awkward. We don't speak, just go our separate ways and carry out routines. I think that by now England is regretting agreeing to this even more than he was in the beginning.

I wrap my wings tightly around myself, the warm embrace almost mocking me because I haven't been hugged like this by another person for centuries.

My mother, Gaul… Would she be proud of the way I turned out?

It doesn't matter. She passed away centuries ago. I need sleep.

In the morning, despite the anger still boiling under the surface, I'm not willing to risk England's life to an infection I didn't catch because of some petty argument. I gesture for him to sit and push his hair aside.

"You're healing fine," I say, inspecting the area. It's almost gone, and the new skin around it is a pale pink scar that will be gone in only a day or two. Nations heal faster than humans, after all.

"Thank you," England says.

It takes me by surprise. Why'd he thank me? He knows I'd do this either way. I hesitate, then, "For what?"

"Taking care of my wound. Now please, get the hell off me," he orders hurriedly, a faint blush rising in his cheeks as his wings ripple uneasily.

 _"_ _Oh-ouais,"_ I say, realizing that me being bent over him is probably not his favorite thing. _"Pardon."_

"Yes, yes, fine. Now, don't you have work to do?" he says, straightening his uniform shirt. The uniform itself has black buttons and stiff blue cloth and lightweight boots that are supposed to make us quicker in the air than heavy ones but really don't make a difference.

 _"_ _Oui-_ that reminds me… What does the Fatis Ut Moriatur curse do, exactly?" I wonder as we leave the tent, the quarrel apparently forgotten. I'm happy to leave it that way. It's hard for me to stay angry at anyone for long.

"It makes the victim much more easy to kill, I told you. It sends them into a coma and makes them mortal," he explains, a hint of irritation in his voice.

 _"_ _Non._ I meant to the spellcaster?" I ask. Our boots crunch on the dry dirt, the grass long dead.

"I… It doesn't matter, really," he says stiffly. "Nothing much."

"Then it surely isn't a problem to tell me what the consequences are, if they really are 'nothing much?'" I ask, trying to meet his eyes. He looks stubbornly away, but holds the door for me to enter the mess hall. He just doesn't want to talk about this.

"I've heard you haven't been eating very much. Is there a problem? You do know you won't be able to fly if you do this for much longer, correct?" he wonders as we make our way to where the cooks are handing out rations.

"I know, it's just… The food here is…" I trail off. _"Merci,"_ I mutter to the woman who hands me a plate. As we walk away, I glance down at it and wrinkle my nose. "Not very appetizing."

"Oh, so you're just being picky?" he asks, digging into it himself when we sit down. "We're soldiers. Better get used to it. You can eat it yourself or I'll force-feed you."

"So you'll feed me? I think I'd love that, _mon lapin,"_ I say teasingly, earning a whack on the head. I rub the sore spot, "Ow…"

"I meant, you're going to eat it yourself or I will shove it down your throat!" England corrects, cheeks pink.

I almost decide to pity him, but a smirk crosses my face as I say, "Well, I don't choke easy, so…"

"No! You know that's not what I meant, you perv!" he shouts, and we get several strange looks from the humans around us (the nations can ignore us easily at this point). "And it's not 'easy,' it's 'easily.'"

 _"_ _Oui, oui_. I know how you are with your funny language," I say.

If I'm not mistaken, he almost smirks as he replies, "Your language is even funnier!"

"I'm not the one who breaks the rules more often than they follow them!" I protest. England huffs, crossing his arms as his wings rise up. My own prickle uncomfortably.

"It doesn't happen _that_ often… And I don't leave out most of the letters like you do! It's like you were drunk or something. Actually, you probably were," he says.

"Drunk on love, perhaps, _mon lapin,_ " I reply with a smirk. "Now shush, _les humains l'écoutent."_

England shushes. He actually listened… I consider that a personal achievement.

Still, I've got a bad feeling about this whole deal. I'm sure that spell brings nothing but bad luck.


	10. Chapter 10

Rating: T

Talking: I'm considering moving the rating up because... Well, France. Thoughts?

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER TEN:

"Uh, Honda?" I wonder, knocking on the wooden frame of the tent. The whispers from inside it cease, and Japan appears at the door. His skin looks oddly waxy in the dim twilight.

"Bonnefoy-san," he replies respectfully, inclining his head in a minimal bow. _"Nani?"_

"I just had a question I thought you would be able to answer," I say. "Nothing much. I didn't mean to disturb you and your tent-mates."

Japan smiles and opens the tent door. "Come in, I'll try my best."

Japan and I have an... Odd relationship. There's clearly some tension, as we never truly recovered from World War II like Japan and America did. He's also one of the few people who have realized I won't grope or make sexual comments if you ask politely, so a good amount of my normal vocabulary is taken away with just that. And he's polite in a strange way-a way that doesn't hide veiled insults like most, just a kindness he carefully restrains.

He shares a tent with three other people-human Sorcerers, skilled mages, and I'm sure America picked some of the best to be with Japan. They're best friends, and honestly, I wish… I wish I had a relationship like that. Oh well. My kindness will have to come full circle eventually, right?

I quickly assess the inhabitants. There's Japan, of course. A man who's a little old for a human soldier-about twenty-nine. He has short black hair, charcoal-dark wings with hints of even darker ink on his wingtips, and a small, friendly smile on his face. A brunette with long hair, ghostly white skin and very broad wings. Polish, probably. She has a small bandage around her arm. She must've been grazed in her last battle. The last is an man with bronzed skin and oddly purplish-red hair. Italian? Did he dye it or something?

"I was wondering if you knew the spell Fatis Ut Moriatur. It was mentioned awhile ago and I just remembered it, and was curious," I said. "Have any of you heard of it?"

"Isn't that forbidden?" the Polish woman asks, tucking her brown hair behind her ears.

"I don't know," I lie smoothly with a small shrug of my shoulders. I'm pretty sure it is, judging on England's refusal to answer my questions.

"Angelina is correct, it's forbidden. I believe the Archmage mentioned it awhile back… It marks the victim for death, but in order to be completed, the caster is sent into a deep coma of the same nature," Japan says, nodding thoughtfully. "So you can't do it. It would require a highly skilled mage even if it was legal."

Angelina pumps her fist. "Knew it," she says with a smirk.

"Like hell you did," the Italian snorts, leaning back in his cot. "That was a guess."

Angelina leans over and gives him a solid whack on the head with her wing. He flinches. Japan and the other man sigh in unison as Angelina shouts, "Dominic, you liar!"

"My neck…" Dominic sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Between you and Soo Jin, I'm gonna get hurt one day and it won't even be in battle!"

Soo Jin, the quiet man, smirks slightly. "Probably," he replies, just as Angelina says, "Of course not, you're our friend!"

"Um… Anyway… _Merci_ …" I say, trailing off. "Have a good evening."

Japan waves a quiet goodbye as I make my escape, keeping my footsteps quiet.

I walk silently to England's tent. My tent too now, I suppose, since I was officially moved here. Does that really count? My thoughts are swirling around my head, trapped in the confines of my skull. They retreat to the dark corners of my mind, but I know they'll come out into the open again as soon as I let my guard down. I pull my wings closer to me.

When I walk in, England is already laying down. I know he's not asleep-his breathing is too quick for that. I say nothing as I walk to my bed, quickly changing into more comfortable clothes. Then I turn and make a decision.

I watch England quietly. He makes sure to keep himself still-he's trying to fool me into thinking he's asleep. Probably so I'll leave him alone. I watch, a faint smile gracing my lips, and then I slip into bed beside him. He tenses immediately and half-turns toward me, his cheeks already darkening. "Get the hell out-"

"I found out about Fatis Ut Moriatur, _mon lapin_. Honorable of you to try, but don't put yourself into a coma. Please," I interrupt softly. My wings drape over me, warm and soft, and I make sure not to touch him.

He quiets, staring at me. "You… Where'd you figure it out?"

I know he'll get angry at Kiku for telling me, so I just repeat, "Please don't try it again, emmon lapin/em. Promise me you won't."

He stares at me for a little while longer, eyes bright green and I've never considered before how pretty that color really is. He doesn't promise anything, but I suppose it turned out better than it could've.

He turns over onto his side. He doesn't push me away that night, or the next, or ever again.


	11. Chapter 11

Rating: T

Talking: Hey guys. Sorry for the short chapter (I might do two tomorrow though to make up for this one and tomorrow's shorter one). Also (spoilers if Hetalia spoilers are even possible) did you guys know that the Wikipedia page for German history also has a section on HRE alongside the "German Confederation" and all the other stuff?

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

"Your wound is almost entirely healed," I tell him, brushing his hair back into place with my fingers. England nods quietly.

"Thank you," he says again, as my fingers drop to his wings. Slowly, I start preening them for him-meticulously straightening the vanes of his feathers and picking dirt out. "What are you doing?" he asks, tense, turning to look.

"What does it look like?" I ask, my hands still working steadily.

England glares. "What do you think you're doing?" he demands, his wings shaking slightly. He hasn't outright moved away, though, so I assume it's fine.

"Just helping out," I say, examining the broken shaft of a feather. "Irresponsible. You broke a feather," I say. "Should I take it out?"

"I… Sure," he says hesitatingly. "Go ahead."

I pluck it quickly. It's like ripping a bandaid off-you have to do it fast. He flinches, but I put it to the side to throw in the trash later. "There," I say. We're silent for a little bit. I'm focused on this and he's probably making all sorts of wild assumptions about what this means in his head.

"Lean back more, I have to get to the down," I tell him, leaning forward myself. The white, fluffy down at the base of his feathers is soft. He sighs quietly, wings still a little too tense, but does as told. I keep working.


	12. Chapter 12

Rating: T

Talking: I just spent 6 hours on a fanart

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER TWELVE:

"What was that?" England asks after I finish, wiping my hands on a towel here just for that purpose.

"I noticed you don't preen nearly as often as you should be doing," I say, putting the towel down on the table. I miss the days when we had extra water. "Twice a day! And your health is, in part, my responsibility as the Head Practitioner."

"Two units of people are, in part, your responsibility. That's 20,000 people. Many of them have worse injuries than I do. So why do you care about me so much?" he demands as my smirk slowly vanishes. "You know that I'm not going to end up dead in this war."

"But that's the thing," I say, my wings hugged close to my body. "You might."

"I'm not going to die!" he protests, clenching and unclenching his hands. "I'm a nation! We're quasi-immortal, in case you've forgotten?"

"Exactly, _mon lapin_. You are a nation and this is a World War and nations have died in World Wars before," I say. "And you've always been there for me."

"We're notorious for fighting against each other," he says flatly.

I shrug. "Whether I see you from across the battlefield or not, you're still always there." I pause. "We should get to work."

I turn, and before he can say anything else I'm out the door.

Is that really what I think? I mean, he _has_ been there for most of my life, whether as an ally or an enemy. It's true, but do I like it that way? It must be dangerous, to be so dependent on someone like I have just realized I am. Especially on someone like him.

I decide that I don't care.

This is England we're talking about, after all. I'd do anything for him.


	13. Chapter 13

Rating: T

Talking: I FORGOT TO DO TWO CHAPTERS I'M SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

I wake up screaming

I bolt up, wings flaring and hand pressed to my chest, where red hot pain stabs through my skin, spreading like poison through my veins. The nails on my other hand dig into my arm.

England-who is already standing and leaning over me, was I screaming before I woke up?-grabs my hands to keep me from hurting myself. "France, what's happening?" he demands, green eyes wide.

The pain slowly fades and slowly, slowly, I'm able to quiet myself. My shoulders still heave but slowly, carefully, I let my wings fall limp to either side of "Espagne,"/em is all I say, eyes closing tightly. Images of blood and battle flash behind my eyelids, so I open them again quickly. "Ah… _Quelle_ …"

"It's all right. Spain won't kill you. He's a pansy," England assures me, although it's not very assuring, considering I feel like my heart is being impaled by a particularly rusty sword. "I cast a muffling spell and if I get your permission I can try to do some magic to take away the pain," he says.

" _Non_ ," I say. _"Non, merci."_

He pauses, "What?"

"I need… I need to stop them. I need to help them. They're dying, _Angleterre_ ," I tell him desperately, though the pain is fading by the minute. I clutch at his hands. He pauses, then sighs quietly.

"I know," he says, leaning into my side, and his wings come forward to embrace me.

I stiffen. He… What? No, no, this can't be happening. This has to be some sort of dream, some sort of bizarre fantasy come alive in the night. This isn't the Angleterre I know. I pinch myself.

No, this is real life.

So slowly, tentatively, I lean back into him. " _Angleterre?"_ I wonder. The pain is almost gone now.

"What?" he asks, tone sharp and bitter, despite the warmth of his actions.

" _Merci_ ," I say softly.

"There's no need to thank me," he replies. He tries to pull away, but I hold him closer, my wings pressed flat to my back but my arms reaching forward, warm. "I-I just don't want my ally weakened by fear or anything, that's all. Nothing more, you got that?"

"Sure," I say. He pulls back but I tug him closer. "Stay with me for a bit, okay?" Ever so slowly, he relaxes back into my arms.

I could stay like this forever, probably.


	14. Chapter 14

Rating: T

Talking: Okay, here's today's chapter! I'm also debating on whether I should publish a fifteen-chapter fanfiction about Switzerland being _so done with the world_.

Also, the Scottish Gaelic here is from Google Translate so I've got no clue if it's right or not. I hope! :)

And a third thing: my computer decided to finally let me see the weird coding thing in a few of the chapters (please tell em if you find any more). And instead of copy and paste, I rewrote it all. It was great. *sarcasm approaching god-level*

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

England is bent over a complicated but familiar array of sigils drawn on a summoned chalkboard, his wings twitching anxiously and folded tightly, his movements quick as he begins to chant.

I can't hear him-muffling spell, probably the same one he used yesterday when I had that battle with Spain-but I can see him, and I know exactly what's going on. Can he hear me, too? Or does the spell work both ways?

" _Non!_ " I shout, and I know he can hear me because he jumps and turns, the spell broken. Then, promptly, the whole thing blows up in our faces.

I don't really register anything until I notice that I'm lying on the ground, my wing trapped painfully under a wooden beam and canvas covering my wing and arm. I'm staring up at the blank blue sky and listening to England's shouts.

Wait, what?

" _Dè bha sibh a 'smaoineachadh?_ " he yells, and it takes me a second to figure out what he's saying, and what language he's speaking in. Scottish Gaelic. Why is he using his brother's language? Don't they hate each other, anyway?

So what's he saying? _"What were you thinking?"_

" _Uill, tha mi duilich, cha do rinn thu ag iarraidh fhaicinn ann an Coma, Sasainn,_ " I call back, sitting up and gingerly pushing the canvas off me.

And what am I saying? " _Well, sorry I didn't want to see you in coma, England_."

I can see his head emerge from the center of the collapsed tent, and dimly, I realize that we have an audience. He glares at me fiercely, " _Like tha fo ur cùram mu dheidhinn sin_."

What? No! Of course I care! " _Mì-chùramach! Tha thu ro-chùramach, Sasainn!_ " And he _is_ too reckless, too careless. He needs to learn that nations can still die, and that he's not truly immortal.

"Archmage, Head Practitioner, please stop shouting!" Germany orders, stepping forward from the crowd that has gathered.

"What language was that?" I hear someone whisper, and I'm glad that at least England chose a language not many speak-at least, not here.

And how did England know I speak it? I learned it from his brother a long time ago, back when our people had a strong alliance. But from what I know, England tried to stay away from us. We emwere /emhis two worst enemies, after all.

Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was magic. Maybe he was smarter than I thought.


	15. Chapter 15

Rating:

Talking: Hey guys... So you might've noticed that I managed to take down that really annoying glitch on chapters 6, 10, 11 and 12? So yeah, big thank you to _browsofglory_ and _u_ for telling me about that!

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

" _Pourquoi?_ " I ask him after we've been relocated and finally left alone as the soldiers go to their drill. "Why did you do that? You promised!"

England says stiffly, standing just inside the tent, "I never promised you I wouldn't do this. It's my choice, anyway. Now stop interfering with my job!"

"It's my job to keep you safe! And I could report you right now, you know. That spell is forbidden. They'd fire you and you'd have to get a new alias and start out as a Magician and go up through the ranks again," I think to mention. He pales slightly, his wings fluffing up in alarm. It's always very hard to get to the top, and even so, Japan would probably take his place as Archmage and he'd stay a mere Sorcerer for the rest of the war.

Still, he's stubborn. "And I could report you for harassment!"

" _Quelle? Non!_ When did I ever do that?" I demand, eyes wide as edge away from him, clenching the sheets of the bed in my hands. My wings wrap tightly around me. I would never do something like that!

"You got into my bed without my permission," he tell me. I glare at him.

"That was different," I say. "You were going to put yourself into a coma."

"It's not at all different in the eyes of the law," he replies smugly.

"That's just cruel, _mon lapin_ ," I mutter, twirling my blonde hair around my finger. "Fine. But I'm still not letting you hurt yourself!"

"I'm not trying to hurt myself! I'm trying to win this bloody war because it truly is bloody, and I'm tired… I'm just tired of fighting. I've been locked in this war for years now and we would already be sick because of our economies plummeting, because of our starving citizens, because of the people dying of thirst every day. I just want to end it, no matter the cost," he says, and at this point he's close to crying. Tears appear at the corners of his eyes, but he rubs them away furiously. "I just want to end the war. It doesn't matter the cost."

"I know," I say quietly. "So do I."


	16. Chapter 16

Rating: T

Talking: Haha sorry this is so short, I'm gonna publish two today :)

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

That night, I ask before I can slip into his bed. I think I took that comment to heart-what he said during our most recent fight. I don't ever want to be that kind of person.

"Um. Uh. Fine, if you really want to," he says, blushing furiously as he speaks. I take that as a 'yes, of course, my darling!' and climb into bed beside him. He's never upfront about his emotions. This is practically a declaration of love from him.

 _"Merci, mon lapin,"_ I say, and he doesn't respond.

As I lay down, I get a thought. An odd thought, an intriguing thought.

It's considered a very weighty thing, so to speak, to put one's wing around another while standing or laying next to each other. It lets the other get very close to you, which doesn't happen often, because even while sleeping wings take up a lot of room. Most people are at least three feet away at all times, but when your wing is around them, that distance goes down to none. It exposes weak spots. It's trust.

So that's exactly what I do.

England jumps, and I can feel his muscles moving under my wing as he turns toward me, his ridiculous eyebrows raised in question.

That only lets me pull him closer. He pauses, staring at me, then he quietly closes his eyes again.

I smile.


	17. Chapter 17

Rating: T but WARNING: This chapter has mild adult themes I guess? If you've actually watched Hetalia, it's nothing less appropriate than that.

Talking: Hey guys and girls, second chapter here today :)

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

I still don't trust him-not with himself, at least. At this point, the fact that we share a tent has moved in my favor-I can check in on him at any time to make sure he's not doing anything stupid again. However, I'm pretty sure that the only time the spell works is at noon-that would explain why he left so abruptly in the middle of our meeting. I still can't be too careful.

When we sit next to each other at breakfast without arguing once, I can practically see the warning bells going off in the other nation's heads. Right now, though, I can't bring myself to care.

"Are you feeling all right, France, uh, Francis?" Germany asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 _"Oui,_ just didn't get to sleep until rather late. I had a lot of things on my mind," I tell him, brushing off his concern. Germany nods, and that's one of the things I both like and find infuriating about him. As long as his soldiers are in working order, he's fine with it. It also makes it annoyingly hard to flirt with him or get him flustered without being angry.

England just emits his prickly "don't-talk-to-me" aura, practically daring anybody to say a word about him. The only words I've heard him say this morning are "Eat you food if you value your life, because I will shove it down your throat and that is _not a comment you should turn perverted because I will kill you for it I swear to God."_

When Poland arrives with Lithuania, he takes one look at us and then giggles-he _giggles_ the grown man that he is-and wonders, "So did you two, like, do the do last night?"

England and I both glance up at him in a mixture of horror and astonishment. Neither of us say anything and I can see Lithuania's pained expression, like he's not sure whether to cringe and apologize or scold Poland as he drags him away. England lets out a stream of curses while I just stare.

Finally, I manage to say something _. "Non,_ no matter how much I wish I could get laid here, I simply don't have enough time. Shame. And England is as repulsive as always. Last night was a long night, that's all."

England, at this point, has outright jumped to his feet and stalked away, muttering something (probably violent) under his breath. I quickly take a few more bites of my oatmeal-or, what passes for oatmeal-and grab England's plate as well. He forgot it, of course.

"Um, I'm going to go try and keep him from slaughtering anybody. _Au revoir!"_ I say hastily, jumping to my feet and hurrying away.

"I put the plates away, then walk briskly towards where I last saw England disappear.

"Head Practitioner!" a woman's voice calls. I turn-it's the human again. Ah... Angelina, was it? She stops in front of me, her smile bright and honest. "Head Practitioner, are you looking for the Archmage?"

" _Ouais_. He seems to have a habit of running off without me," I reply. "And, ah, no need to call me Head Practitioner. Just Bonnefoy is fine."

"Yeah, okay then, Bonnefoy. He was going that direction, towards the tents for the lower-ranking mages," she says. "Don't know why, but good luck! He's a feisty one." She winks and smiles, her dark wings relaxing, and I can't help but nod.

"That he is," I say, glancing in his direction. _"Merci. Au revoir."_

 _"Au revoir!"_ she tries, mostly mangling the accent. I smile and hurry off.


	18. Chapter 18

Rating: T (violence!)

Talking: *evil laughter*

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:

I haven't found England yet when the world starts to explode around me.

The tent I'm walking past is engulfed by fire, licking up the canvas and bone dry wood. A person darts out of the door. Her wings are wrapped around her, golden-brown feathers singed black, and she's gasping for breath. She must have breathed in too much smoke.

I turn, eyes wide. Thoughts rush through my head. What? Who did this? When did they get here? Is everyone okay? Is-

I whip around as I hear the crackling of more flame. Smoke tinges the air. It's stinging and far too present, and it smells like wood. It brings back memories-so many memories, so hard to contain-but now is not the time.

Everywhere, people are darting out of tents and taking to the air. I glance up.

Okay. Okay, I can do this. No need to panic. _No need to panic._ What do we need to do? We need to move the battle away from the tents, organize our forces, and stop the fire. I can do two of those things now. The third I have no control over. No need to panic.

"Medics!" I shout at the top of my lungs, breathing in deep lungfuls of the smoke and not caring in the slightest. I take to the sky, my wings beating the air as I climb higher, higher, higher.

I can do this. "Medics! To the east!" There's a field there, which should get us away from the fire. At least, for now. We'll have to repair our camp later.

I can do this. "Cobalt, get to the east! The east!" I hear America's much louder voice shouting the same thing, echoed by Germany and… Is that Poland? They must've heard me and realized what I was doing.

I have to do this. "Move! Feliciano, Mia, move your cells to the east!" That's five thousand each. Their subordinates, the Medics, can move their sequences of ten.

I see England. He's flying, weaving between soldiers. He's looking for something-or more accurately, someone. Who's he looking for? Who was stupid enough-oh. It must be Norway. Of course he's looking for the other Archmage. England is the only one who can properly fight him, after all-except maybe Japan.

The battle is over the field now. I need to treat the people who're wounded.

A man rushes toward me. Dark skin and smooth hair and long wings. One of India's children? Long wings aren't fast but they are powerful. Careful. I manage to twist out of the way, my wings beating quickly and my heart racing.

He doesn't know it, but he's fighting a nation. It won't turn out well for him. It never does, for humans fighting nations.

I race forward, twisting my wings to hit his in just the right- _wrong-_ spot. I hear a snap. I regain my balance easily, but he's sent into a roll. The wing gives out, crumpling, and he plummets to Earth.

I go into a dive, wings close by my side and the wind in my face and the scent of blood in the air. I spread my wings suddenly and catch the wind, flying quickly along the ground as I look for my own side's injured.

The first person I find is a man with a broken wing. Where do I know him? Was he a Lieutenant-one of Taiwan's friends, maybe? I lift him carefully. I'm glad that being a nation also makes me stronger. I take to the air again.

I lay him down near Mia's temporary camp, a short distance away from the battle. She's already rushing about, repairing broken wings and cleaning blood and stitching up gashes with the help of her subordinates. She realized that Italy and I are tougher than most awhile ago, though I don't think she knows everything about us and our secret. She's fine with us going into battle while she treats patients. It this point, she knows it makes more sense.

"Unconscious, with a broken wing," I tell her without being asked. I set him down gently, and I can hear screams from behind me. I'm dizzy, and it feels like my knees are about to give out. Why do I feel like this? Have I been eating enough? No. So that must be it.

"Bonnefoy!" I hear a man call sharply. I turn. South Italy, or Italy Romano, the Messenger. Why's he here? "I was supposed to tell you there would be an attack, but the bastards got here first, dammit! I can get people instead of Feli so he can help here!" His glare is furious. I don't think he likes that his baby brother has to go into a fight, despite their many differences.

"Talk to him when he comes back here," I say, and launch myself into the air.

England is high above me. He's found Norway. They're launching spells at each other left and right, dirty tricks everywhere because neither of them care too much about the glory. They're both old enough to know there's nothing honorable about battle. Denmark and Germany, meanwhile, seem to pull the whole battle towards them, a whirlwind of brute strength.

I scan the ground. Too many bodies, not enough time. I rush forward, skimming the ground, when I pause.

I recognize that face. I drop to the ground lightly, kneeling beside her. Brown hair. Too-pale skin. Her eyes are empty, her clothes stained red with blood and her neck twisted unnaturally. A stranger's pale feather is in her hair.

Angelina.

A human.

A human who can die.

I take her pulse quickly, although I know there's no hope. Her heartbeat's gone. Her ever-present smile is twisted into a scowl.

I feel a shiver go down my spine as I stand up. With a few beats of my wings, I keep going. There are more people. More humans who still can be helped.


	19. Chapter 19

Rating: T (ah... violence again...)

Talking: I know it's really really short I'm so sorry but there's no way I could make it much longer :(

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER NINETEEN:

There's a shout and a bang and people are falling from the sky.

The shout was in England's voice. Norway is falling and Denmark, just behind him, is trying to slow his fall with his stuttering, amateur magic. Humans around them are dropping like flies. When they hit the ground with wet thuds, their bones shatter and sticky blood coats their skin. I try not to look.

The world seems to be set on slow motion and I glance wildly around. My heartbeat pounds in my chest and my wings beat the air to keep me aloft. I can see each body as it falls, but there's only one person that I'm looking for.

England is also falling, his body limp. I stop, landing, my boots already stained with blood, and calculating the distance even as the world seems to churn around me. Will I be able to catch him? Will it kill me? Will it kill him? Well, if I don't try, he'll certainly be dead.

So despite the risks, I jump toward him.


	20. Chapter 20

Rating: T

Talking: *more evil laughter*

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya!

CHAPTER TWENTY:

My arms close around him a good ways off the ground, though my grip isn't firm. I twist, beating my wings desperately to try and slow our fall and get a better hold on him but we are already going too fast and I'm too weak to even try. His chest is pressed to mine and his wings trail uselessly.

I'm still dizzy. My heartbeat is too shallow. I can't feel England's heartbeat at all but I'm not sure if that's because of the position or if his clothes are too thick or if the movement makes it harder to feel.

I twist so that I'm under him, so that I will bear the brunt of the fall.

And it all goes black.

*time skip brought to you by the fact that England can't swim*

When I wake, the first thing I feel is pain. So much pain. Everywhere. My wings are spread on either side of me, the sunny feathers still dust-and-blood-covered. My eyes crack open and even that hurts. When I draw in a shuddering breath, it feels like stinging fire, heavy in my lungs.

"France!" Italy's voice says. He leans over me. "Don't move."

 _"Ah… Quelle…"_ I say, but even that is a struggle. Italy presses a finger to his lips, "Shush," and I oblige as he runs off.

I stare up at the ceiling. Yes, there's a ceiling. A blue tarp. It's the kind of tarp that would make you feel claustrophobic if the ceiling wasn't at least ten feet up, which it is. More like fifteen, actually.

I can feel the bruises covering my back and I'm fairly certain my wings are both broken. With a little magic, it's easy for nations to recover from broken wings, but… It hurts. Like someone's stabbing me every time I move or breathe or think.

When Italy comes back, it's with Mia by his side. The human takes one look at me and immediately, she says, "He's pretty much gone. He's not been eating enough, he's throughly dehydrated, both wings broken, serious bruising… He landed on his back with a person on top of him?"

Italy nods. "Well, it was Arthur, and he's pretty scrawny for a grown man," he corrects. I guess that's right, but it was only because he didn't eat enough back when he was a kid.

"You mean, he's like you?" Mia asks Feliciano as she runs her hands across my wings. She brings warmth and comfort with her. The bones don't hurt as badly, don't feel like they're shattered anymore. "I… I don't know. He's the one who's supposed to deal with this kind of thing! Maybe the Archmage-wait, is the Archmage Arthur? Huh… Maybe he could do something if he had instructions. He's got a pretty extraordinary magic reserve, so I've heard."

 _"Si! Grazie!"_ Italy chirps. "Wait just here, Francis, and don't move a muscle. We'll have you all fixed up in no time."

And what can I do but wait?


	21. Chapter 21

Rating: T

Talking: Thank Google translate for the French here! Also, I almost accidentally updated chapter 21 of the sequel :| that would've been confusing. Also, it's so late at night it's actually early morning and I'm literally struggling to keep my eyes open because I forgot to update this.

Also, yesterday I found out that RSVP stands for _respondez_ _s'il vous plait_ and am now very confused about my language. Why do we use this so often. Why do we use French and Spanish as slang. Why is everything in English French.

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

"You're so stupid," England says conversationally as he preens my wings, his delicate fingers gently healing whatever scratches and tears and broken bones he finds. His own wounds were healed by Italy when the two of us were carried in by a desperate America.

I sigh. It doesn't hurt as much anymore. _"Oui,_ I know," I agree.

"Never sacrifice yourself for me again," England orders, glancing up at me for a moment. I quickly shift my gaze to the ceiling to avoid looking at him.

"You're one to talk, _mon lapin,"_ I reply with the slightest smirk, and artfully dodge any promising he might try to make me do.

England pauses. "What does that mean?"

"At that last fight!" I point out. "You cast that spell and when you did it you knew it would knock you out-don't even try to argue with me, I know you better than you know yourself-and you also knew you were too high up! With your country as weak as it is, your death could've been permanent!"

"Well, I didn't die," he says, and goes back to healing a deep gash in my wing where several feathers have been ripped out.

"Clearly," I say, "That was because I shielded you!"

"And you didn't die either, so I wouldn't have died if you hadn't done anything!" he argues, and his touch is not so gentle anymore. I flinch away, ignoring the bursts of pain that spark at the sudden movement, and he takes a deep breath. Then he goes back to working, his hands much gentler and softer than before.

 _"Ouais…_ But… I worry," I confess.

He stares at me. "Do enemies do this?" he wonders suddenly, quietly, plucking a broken feather.

"What do you mean?" I ask, wincing, although I know exactly what he's talking about.

"Do enemies worry about each other? Do they heal each other? Make an alliance? Sacrifice themselves for each other? Sleep in the same bed? Force each other to eat out of worry for their health?" he asks, his cheeks darkening.

"We're just strange, _mon lapin,"_ I tell him. "I think this wing can heal on its own. Could you move to the other one?" I ask, flexing the muscles and stretching it as a test

"Uh, sure… Do enemies call each other pet names and endearments? Learn each other's languages so they can communicate better?" he continues, and he does in fact step over me to tend to my other wing. His own wing is forced to sprawl over me, although he tries to draw it close to himself.

"Are we still enemies?" I return.

"What? Of course we are! We've fought since we first met!" he exclaims, glancing up at me with wide eyes.

I shrug. "Just a thought, _mon lapin."_

He's silent for a little bit, and the only sound is the scratching of too-dry feathers. "Well…" he says at last. "Maybe we're not exactly enemies, per se. But we're not friends either."

"Why not?" I ask, wincing as he pushes my feathers the wrong way.

"Because we've always hated each other!" he says, leaning forward to get a better look at a gash.

My smirk grows. I chuckle quietly. This is the part where I win the argument. "Oh, maybe you've hated me since forever, but I've never completely hated you."

England stops, again. "What?"

"It's like having an annoying little sibling who you kind of want to punch but still love with all your heart, but without the sibling part, _mon lapin,"_ I explain, and hope he understands.

"So you're saying you love me, not as a brother, and also want to punch me," England sums up. I sit up, my back throbbing and my breath quickening. "Hey! No, don't do that, you'll hurt yourself!"

"I don't care," I say. "Heal my back, _s'il vous plait."_

He sighs, grumbles something about confusing, irresponsible frogs, and moves to my back.


	22. Chapter 22

Rating: T

Talking: It's almost done! :D Also I'm almost done with Camp NaNoWriMo (yay I'm pretty sure I'll do it! ...knock on wood).

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story: they belong to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:

Two days later, I'm done. My wings are strong as ever, and according to England, "they've been forcing more food down your throat, thank God." I have to assume that means I'm visibly healthier.

"How'd you heal so fast?" Mia wonders in awe. I shrug, and thankfully Italy comes to the rescue.

"Arthur Kirkland, the Archmage, is really skilled! Anyway, he can go back to his tent now, right? I think he should be able to!" he gushes.

Mia nods and shrugs, "Okay. I'm going to go organize the rebuilding of the tents before I turn in. Goodbye," she says.

 _"Au revoir,"_ I reply, then turn to Italy. We have a strange relationship-it resembles that of sort-of-brothers who rarely see each other, though neither of those things are the case, oddly enough. Two kisses on the cheek and then it's goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow," I say, since it's growing dark.

"Bye-bye!" he says, and darts off.

I straighten, pull my aching wings into a more soldierly position, and walk briskly away.


	23. Chapter 23

Rating: T (um sex jokes in this chapter because France)

Talking: Almost done! I'm gonna be coming out with the epilogue tomorrow and then we'll be jumping right in to Repair, which is a LietPol fanfic that continues the story of the war. :D Thank you so much to my reviewers!

Disclaimer: I do not hold or claim to hold any sort of ownership or rights over the characters in this story, which belongs to Hetalia/Hidekaz Himaruya, or Harry Potter, which belongs to author J.K. Rowling.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:

England has summoned a flashlight and is reading quietly. _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. Again?

I sigh quietly and England glances over at me. "You're looking healthy," he says.

"Getting better," I agree. "Hopefully."

"Of course you're getting better, I helped," he says. "Are you going to be sleeping now?" he wonders, starting to mark his page.

 _"Non, non,"_ I assure him as I begin to unbutton my uniform. "Keep reading."

He nods and goes back to his book as I change. It's not like he hasn't seen me like this before. I suppose I really am notorious for stripping in public. (It's just so freeing!)

Now changed into something much more comfortable (meaning boxers), I crawl into the cot beside him. "You really do like reading Harry Potter," I muse, glancing over his shoulder.

"I do, it's an amazing book series and I'm still outraged that you haven't read them properly yet," England says calmly.

"You don't sound too angry, _mon lapin,"_ I say.

"I'm cold," he tells me flatly instead of replying properly. I spread my wing over him, pressing close. "Thank you."

He closes the book, sets it on the floor beside the cot, and leaves the flashlight on so we can see each other by its dim light. "You know, I'm still confused," he tells me, managing to sound more matter-of-fact than not.

"About what?" I wonder, a smile making its way onto my lips. I know very well what, but it's fun to watch him squirm.

"You know very well what!" He crosses his arms sternly, and his wings-previously relaxed and laid to one side-are now tensing up.

"What are we to each other, you mean?" I ask, maybe a little too smugly.

He glares with bright green eyes. They haven't changed at all from when I first met him-when he was small and ever-loyal and bruised but still determined to earn approval from his brothers. "Don't word it like that," he says, pink dusting his fair cheeks, "It sounds too much like it's implying love."

"Maybe I meant it that way," I say, rolling over, my legs straddling him. He blushes darker, his wings flaring out to either side of him. Mine are draped over his sides.

"But-" he begins, and I cover his mouth. He licks my hand and I yelp, letting go. He smirks and props himself up on his elbows. "Are you going to interrupt me or do I need to gag you?"

"I wouldn't mind being gagged, but please, at least wait until the end of the war when we're back home," I say, smirking right back at him. He yelps and bolts up, shoving me away.

"You know that's not what I meant, you perv!" His glare isn't as fierce as it's always been before.


	24. Epilogue

Rating: T (okay yeah sex references because France)

Talking: It might seem like it's done, but it's not quite over! France and England may have gotten over their obvious sexual tension, but the war is still raging and there is more to be done. Now, it's Lithuania and Poland who will be taking the spotlight! (Poland: *dances his way offstage because there are people watching* Lithuania: *dances in front of Poland because he doesn't want Poland to be scared*). Get ready for some hilarious antics! It's called **Repair** ,and it's the second in this series!

EPILOGUE:

"So, for real this time, did you guys, like, do the do last night?" Poland asks, leaning forward, and I just know he's poised to make mental notes.

England chokes on his food and immediately blushes dark red, hiding his face in his hands and puling his wings tightly around him. Meanwhile, I just chuckle, patting him on the head. "My charm is irresistible, and we were sharing a tent. Of course he didn't last long," I say, and he buries his face in my arm before I can move it away.

"Frog, I will skin you," he threatens, but he's still hiding his face.

"I'll skin you first, _mon lapin,"_ I reply, smirking as I glance down at him. England makes a strangled hissing noise in the back of his throat, and Lithuania gives him an odd look.

Poland cackles, "I knew it! You two are, like, totally cute together!" he exclaims, and Lithuania has to grab his wings to keep him from accidentally knocking something over.

Germany-who has so far been staying safely out of the conversation-raises an eyebrow. "Skinning is what you call cute? Remind me not to mess with Poland…" he mutters. I send him a quick glare.

"Please calm down, Poland," Lithuania says, and at Poland's sharp glare he corrects himself, "Calm down, Po."

Poland sighs and leans back in his seat. (How he can lean that far back on a bench without falling off is beyond me).

Germany narrows his eyes and raises his wings to make a little wall around him, trying to stay as far out of the conversation as possible.

England's blush doesn't start to die down because now I'm cheerfully explaining all the details to Poland while Lithuania and Germany watch in horror. England clings tight to my side.

We're happy, but the war is not yet over.


End file.
